


Easy, Like Sunday Morning

by quartetship



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:12:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Sunday was Jean's favorite day.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy, Like Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> A short, sweet requested piece for [Twitter user 'sweetchoreo'](https://twitter.com/sweetchoreo) \- hope this is something like what you were hoping for, friend! :)
> 
> And yes, I totally named this after a really cheesy, old song. Sue me.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! :)

The peaceful, pleasant pace of Sunday morning was one of Jean’s most treasured feelings in life. It was something he counted on, something he spent most of each week looking forward to, and something he wouldn't compromise. The perfect, placid movement of the weekends was a slow, sweet dance, one that he could never get enough of, especially when he shared the steps of it with his favorite partner. Sunday was especially happy, especially relaxing.

Sunday was Jean’s favorite day.

It hadn't always been that way. Growing up, Jean could never understand the enthusiasm his friends and classmates seemed to hold for the weekends. There was a general consensus that the days between Friday and Monday were magical, something close to worship in the way people he knew would talk about their plans – or lack thereof – for their time away from work and school. It didn't make sense to Jean.

Maybe that was because he never _had_ a lazy weekend. There wasn't a single one, as far back as he could reach into his memories. When he was only three years old, his parents had separated, and weekends were a prize to be won between them. With no sisters or brothers to share the burden of being shuttled back and forth between two homes, miles apart, Jean shouldered it alone, spending as much time in cars as anywhere else on the weekends.

Every other Saturday was his father’s time with him, which meant a long ride and a single night spent with that side of his family, before Jean was being packed back into a car and driven back to his mother’s home the next evening. On the weekends that he didn't have traveling to do, there was no respite; staying home with his mother meant chores on Saturday and church on Sunday, a seat in a stuffy pew, listening to a stuffier preacher. Then it was lunch with the ladies from his mother’s bible study, and an evening of preparing to return to school.

Sunday was always _anything but_ restful for Jean. There was never enough of a pause for him to really appreciate the day for anything other than a bookend to a busy week. Even in adulthood, he spent his weekends running errands and visiting family. He never felt the restful significance of a weekend morning at home.

That changed, once he had Marco to share those mornings with.

Meeting Marco Bodt had been like tripping, Jean running through his life at full force like he always had, and stumbling over a person so firmly rooted in the middle of the chaos that he had no choice but to pause in his presence. The way Marco meandered through life made Jean restless, but all the more interested; he'd never seen someone so contentious simply _be,_ as Marco always seemed to be, bone-deep. He left Jean absolutely bewildered.

Marco - the whole of him, all that he was - was slow and sweet and _peaceful,_ like nothing and no one Jean had ever known. Everything he said and did was thoughtful. Jean slowed his own steps to match Marco’s, realizing that not everything was as important as his hurried schedule had always led him to believe. It wasn't long, living at Marco’s laid back pace, before Jean realized he never wanted to go back to the way life had been before.

He never wanted to walk through a week without Marco waiting for him at the end of it.

Sunday morning was a completely different experience, once Jean began sharing an address with Marco, and even more so once life had settled enough that he could think about sharing a last name with him as well. Waking up beside someone that made him want to stay in bed all morning made the weekends a whole lot more beautiful. Marco’s sweet, sleepy smile was the perfect start to a lazy day.

And that's exactly what Sunday was for them, every week.

It was the beauty of not setting an alarm, and being woken instead by warm hands, trailing over bare skin. It was breakfast served at lunch time, eaten on blankets or pillows on the living room floor, a meal seasoned with laughter and kisses and talk of the week to come. It was a trip to the grocery store, Marco carefully checking items off of a list while Jean tossed things into their cart without a second thought, and a playful argument in the aisles about just who was paying for everything, about Jean ruining Marco’s thoughtful meal plans – and just how Jean intended to make it up to him, later.

There was always time for that, too. Where the week sped along without many moments to spare for more than a few cuddles and kisses, Saturday and Sunday were days to spend buried in blankets or sprawled out on couches, to linger in hot showers, or lick more than just the spoon after making brownies together. It was time for intimacy, time for anything they wanted. It was time together.

Jean looked forward to weekends, because it meant a chance to _enjoy_ life, rather than simply live it. It was a major change, and even years after moving in with and marrying Marco, he sometimes still felt a sense of urgency with no real source, a rush to finish everything at once that left him dizzy and exhausted. But Marco was there to take his hand, and hold him in place until everything slowed down around them, and there was only the two of them, relaxed, still, and at peace.

Marco made things better, even when they were fine to begin with. He was the soft sunshine of a late morning, the icing on a warm, sweet cinnamon roll, fresh from the oven and eaten as slowly as it had been baked. Marco was everything good, everything that took its time and made life a little bit more wonderful in doing so.

Being with Marco was like the ease of Sunday morning, and Jean’s weekends were never anything but beautiful, beside him.


End file.
